


The Little Thief

by lusteralliance



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Thieves, Angst, Childhood, Crushes, Dimiashe Week (Fire Emblem), First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Growing Up Together, Literal Sleeping Together, Love Confessions, M/M, i feel so fulfilled. anyway im never writing anything ever againbhaSDF, idk how to tag this they're just babies, oh thats a thing, there are a ton of chapters but they're all very very short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 8,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23804512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lusteralliance/pseuds/lusteralliance
Summary: Of all the people he could have stolen a loaf of bread from, it had to be the crown prince of Faerghus.(for dimiashe week)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert
Comments: 16
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> happy dimiashe week

A boy had two loaves of bread under his arms, with another in a small pouch he was carrying against his chest. Ashe huddled behind a barrel in the busy marketplace, his mouth watering at the sight of the food. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon, and his stomach was on threatening to digest itself if it did not get fed soon.

The little thief saw the boy with the bread turn his back to buy something else from the stands. Ashe could tell he was a rich noble, for his clothing was made of a thick, warm-looking material with the hems of his cloak lined with furs. His blonde hair was neatly combed though untrimmed, though it seemed to be that way by choice. He would not be bothered by the cold of the winter morning, and certainly not by one less loaf of bread.

While the boy and the woman behind the stand were busy picking out pastries, Ashe darted out from his hiding place, weaving through the warm bodies packed against one another in the busy marketplace, and shoved the boy against the stand.

The boy yelped and dropped one of his purchases on the ground, and Ashe grabbed it and whipped around to run; to his horror, he found that the crowds of people had seen him, and were yelling and packing around him so he could not escape. Petty thievery was frowned upon in Faerghus. Terror seized Ashe’s muscles and rooted him in place, and he clutched his loaf of bread against his empty stomach, trembling as a big butcher reached for him to probably snap his neck in half. 

“Stop!”

The crowd immediately drew back, and Ashe whipped around to stare at the boy he’d stolen from. His blue eyes glistened in the pale morning with a fierce light, but the anger was directed towards the people who had been shouting at Ashe. He stood in front of the littler boy protectively, saying, “Leave him alone. He’s starving.”

“But Your Highness,” someone spluttered in the crowd, and Ashe nearly fainted. Had he stolen from—

“I said leave him alone. Winter is harsh to many families, and I’m sure he just wants to feed his.” The boy turned back to Ashe and smiled, and his blue eyes were suddenly warm and inviting. “What’s your name?” he asked, in the kindest voice Ashe had ever heard in his life.

“...Ashe,” Ashe mumbled, staring down at his shoes. They were in tatters from years of running and growing, and he could see the tips of his toes curling in the icy cold.

“Here, Ashe. You can have the rest of this bread, if you’d like.” The boy placed the rest of his purchases carefully in Ashe’s arms. “I know you need it more than me.”

“Oh—oh, thank you,” Ashe gasped, struggling to hold all the bread. It was warm and fragrant, and its warmth bloomed in his chest as he clutched it there, his eyes stinging with gratitude. Why was this boy so...nice?

“I’m Dimitri, by the way,” the boy introduced himself, and Ashe’s eyes flicked up to stare up at him. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Prince Dimitri? Of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus?

Ashe opened and closed his mouth, trying to speak but lacking words in his head. Of all the people he decided to steal from, it had to be the crown prince. Excuses and apologies and half-brewed formalities buzzed around in Ashe’s head like gnats, and in the end, he replaced the prince’s bread in his arms, much to Dimitri’s confusion.

“Refusing the prince’s gifts? How ungrateful!” another person watching yelled, and they all started berating Ashe, and the little thief tried to squirm through the crowd but was pushed back against the pastry stand. Everyone towered over him like giant goliaths; so many faces screwed up in contempt glowered down at Ashe, mouths open and spitting and shouting. Panic rose up in his chest, and he found himself crying with Dimitri’s arm around him.

“I said to leave him alone!” the young prince ordered, clutching Ashe’s tangled silver-gray hair against his shoulder. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves! He’s just a child!” Ashe was scared to hug the prince, so his arms were curled against his chest, a barrier between nobility and nothing.

“He tried to steal bread from you, Your Highness,” one of the marketgoers pointed out desperately, as if fishing for an excuse to keep scolding Ashe. The little thief felt a faint rumble in Dimitri’s chest, like a growling lion.

“I _know_ that.” He shifted all the bread in his arms to one of them, and he found one of Ashe’s hands and took it, squeezing it gently. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

Ashe stumbled after the prince, wiping away his tears as Dimitri lead him away through the marketplace, and the people parted for him like a crowd making way for a king. Dimitri did not speak until they had made it to the outskirts of the marketplace, sitting on a small section of mossy, crumbling cobble wall.

“Are you okay?” he asked, when Ashe awkwardly joined him. He didn’t know how far away from the prince he was supposed to sit.

“Yeah,” Ashe whispered. “...Thanks.”

“Of course,” Dimitri smiled, and that smile seemed to quell the chill in the atmosphere outside the marketplace, replacing it with a summer warmth Ashe was not used to. The prince gave him his bread, and rummaged in his pocket to produce a small fruit pastry neatly wrapped in blue paper. “Want to share?”


	2. Chapter 2

Dimitri unwrapped the treat, which was a small square of cookie-like crust, filled with a reddish jelly that glistened like a great diamond-shaped jewel. Small dollops of white frosting decorated the edges of the pastry. It smelled heavenly, and Ashe was worried he would never see something so beautiful ever again if he ate it.

“...No thanks,” he mumbled, just as Dimitri was about to split it in half. The prince blinked rapidly.

“No? I thought you were hungry.”

“I am…” Ashe chewed his lip, picking at a small scab on his wrist with the prince’s bread in his arms. “But I don’t—I don’t think I should…”

“You shouldn’t do what?” Dimitri prompted patiently, and his hands folded over his pastry, delicate and princely.

“...You’re the—the prince,” Ashe stammered, “I can’t—I can’t eat with you.”

Dimitri tipped his head to look Ashe in the eyes, and the little thief glanced shyly down at his knees. They were turning blue from the cold. “Don’t think of me as the prince, please,” Dimitri insisted almost pleadingly. “I only ever leave the palace so I can take a break from princehood once in a while. Just think of me as another boy.”

Ashe nodded a little, wincing when he peeled the scab on his wrist. Dimitri split the pastry and placed one half in Ashe’s trembling palm. It was a perfect triangle.

They ate, and the sweetness and crumbly softness of the pastry nearly made Ashe cry. Dimitri asked him if he liked it, and he was holding his breath so hard to keep from bursting into tears that he could not respond. The young prince took his hand again when it was free of crumbs, pulling him to his feet.

“Where do you live? I’ve never been out of the palace as much as I’d like, and I’d love for you to show me around,” Dimitri asked, and Ashe clutched the bread against his chest, squeezing Dimitri’s hand. It was bigger and warmer than his, though not by much.

“Um…”

Dimitri sensed Ashe’s discomfort, and he chuckled, “If you don’t want to show me, that’s okay, too. I just want to make sure none of those people in the market come and hurt you again...do you want to come to the palace with me?”

Ashe shook his head vigorously, enough to rattle his brain in his skull.

“Why not?”

“...It’s—it’s too far away, I’ll get lost…”

“Oh, right. I don’t want your parents to get worried.” Ashe looked up at the prince’s face, and the prince looked at him, and he saw the little thief’s olive eyes wide and blank. Dimitri gasped, a hand flying to his mouth.

“Are...are your…?”

Ashe did not have parents.

Dimitri looked around, as if trying to find something to say, and he instead breathed, “I’m so sorry, Ashe…” His name sounded odd on his tongue. Regal, almost.

“It’s okay.” Ashe barely remembered them. He had been alone for most of his ten years of life, stealing, starving, alone.

“...Let me come to your home with you. I’ll help you carry your bread,” the prince of Faerghus offered. His blue eyes were gentle and afraid.

Ashe squeezed his hand tightly, having forgotten he had been holding it at all. “...Okay.”


	3. Chapter 3

Ashe lead Dimitri through the chilly castle town, letting the prince handle the questions when people saw him walking with a scrawny little street rat. As they got farther and farther away from the palace, the streets became smaller and emptier and more worn down.

They passed an orphanage, where an exhausted-looking caretaker was minding three tiny children outside. They were giggling and clambering all over each other and playing and laughing, and Ashe looked at them briefly before continuing in the opposite direction. That orphanage was at maximum capacity, and he had been turned away when he had asked for a place to sleep there two years ago. They were no longer at maximum capacity, but he still felt unwilling to go back and ask.

Dimitri was shivering, and Ashe could hear his teeth chattering. They climbed over half a stone wall, slipping down on frosty ivies, and Ashe stopped walking when they reached a tiny alcove just beyond the crumbling edge of the castle town.

There was a pile of thin blankets in the shade of the cobble overhang. Dimitri squeezed Ashe’s hand when the little thief tried to let go of it, and he glanced up at the prince, clutching his bread against his chest.

“...You live here?” Dimitri asked quietly. Ashe nodded, staring at his pile of blankets lying in the corner of the small alcove. They got warm enough when he was in them at night, and in the sweltering summer heat, he could hang them up to use for shade.

They placed the bread in the blankets, and Ashe thanked Dimitri again for his help. Dimitri continued to stare at the blankets, until he pointed at them, asking, “What’s that?”

Ashe fished out what Dimitri had seen: a poorly made wooden bow, on the brink of snapping. “It’s my bow,” Ashe told the prince sheepishly. “If I’m in danger, I use it.”

“You know archery?”

Ashe nodded. “I think.” He did not remember who taught him.

“That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to learn a bit of archery.” Dimitri squatted down and ran his finger along the smooth, fragile wood. “Maybe you can teach me someday?”

Ashe felt his face grow warm. “Maybe.”

“Maybe I can teach you how to use a lance, too. What do you say?” Ashe smiled a little, nodding happily at the prince. Dimitri smiled back. “How about I come here again and bring you back with me to the palace? Then, we can teach each other!”

“Okay,” Ashe agreed. Dimitri held out his hand, extending his littlest finger.

“Deal?”

Ashe twined his own little finger with Dimitri’s. “Deal!”


	4. Chapter 4

Ashe waited and waited.

Dimitri did not return for a long time; Ashe counted the days with the prince’s loaves of bread. One could last him a week, if he was sparing enough. One loaf passed, then the other, and he stole one from somewhere in the marketplace and that one was gone, too. And then the fiercer winter snows of Faerghus began. Ashe’s bow snapped in the cold.

The wind howled ferociously through the outskirts of the castle town, and Ashe was buried in his blankets, shivering from the chill. To his dismay, he had been so well fed over the past three weeks that he had been growing. The blankets were still giant on him, thank the goddess, but they were not as big as they used to feel. Ashe winced when they began to grow wet, and he realized that snow was being blown into his little alcove. If this kept up, he would be dead before morning.

Suddenly, he heard a faraway grunt, and footsteps trudging through the snow. He was so tired and hungry again, and he thought he might have been hallucinating. Then, the person shouted from somewhere in the raging snow, “ _Ashe_!”

Dimitri. Ashe tried to climb out of his blankets and run out into the open, to cry, “I’m here! I was waiting!” but he found that his limbs were leaden with exhaustion. His bones ached from the cold, and he lay there, silent as the snow piled relentlessly on top of him.

He knew at last that he was not hallucinating when he felt snow being scooped off of him, and the cold winter air pierced his skin when Dimitri lifted the blanket to see him.

“Oh, Ashe!” The little thief was numb as the prince pulled him carefully into his arms. “Are you all right? I’m—I’m so sorry I couldn’t come back...when it started to snow, I escaped and ran as fast as I could, and I think they’re following me. Please, tell me you’re all right.”

Dimitri was very warm. Ashe’s eyes were closed in the darkness, and he mumbled, “M’cold...mitri…”

Faraway, he heard someone yell, “Your Highness! What are you doing down there?” Dimitri gasped and pulled Ashe’s blankets tighter around him, hauling him into his arms. He was strong, too. He had grown a bit since they had last met as well.

“Help me!” Dimitri yelled back, and Ashe lost consciousness with his head pressed to Dimitri’s heart, the prince’s warmth chasing away the winter cold.


	5. Chapter 5

Ashe woke up in a bed. It was so comfortable, he fell back asleep immediately.

When he found himself unable to indulge anymore, he opened his eyes, seeing a ceiling over his head. His own thin blankets were balled up against his stomach, and a bigger, softer, thicker one was thrown over him. He was tucked up to his chin, and his head was on a pillow.

There was a glass of water on the nightstand, next to a small plate of eggs and some slices of warm bread lathered in butter. Before it was a note written on a piece of paper in black ink. Ashe turned on his side in the bed, closing his eyes again. He did not know how to read, so he did not bother trying.

The last thing he remembered was Dimitri carrying him. Was he in the palace? Ashe sat up a little, looking around his small room. There was a lavish-looking chair in the corner across from the lavish-looking door, and a small shelf of fancy books and a window whose curtains were closed. On top of the bookshelf was a pinched out candle and Ashe’s old clothing. He looked down, and found himself in a warm set of sleepwear. The grime had been scrubbed from his skin, somehow, and the cuts on his fingers had been bandaged.

What had he done to be treated so well?

Ashe ate his breakfast, hoping it was his breakfast, and it tasted like the food of the gods. He was staring at the note when someone knocked on the door. He waited for the person to come in, then heard Dimitri call, “Hello? Ashe?”

“Yeah?” Ashe called back.

“Can I come in?”

“Oh—oh, yes you can.”

The door was pushed carefully open, and Dimitri peeked in, smiling. He was dressed in black and blue attire, his hands behind his back politely as he walked in.

“Are you feeling better?” the prince asked, sitting down on the side of Ashe’s bed. Ashe nodded eagerly, hugging his thin blankets to his chest.

“Yeah...um, did you bring me here? Is this the royal family’s palace?”

“Mm-hmm. We had a spare room, and I convinced my father to let you stay the night.” The king? Ashe’s eyes widened at the thought of the king of Faerghus seeing him.

“Thank you,” the little thief whispered, and Dimitri said it was no problem, and hugged him. His arms were very warm. Everything about him was warm.

“Did you read my note?” Dimitri asked cheerfully, glancing at the small piece of paper under Ashe’s plate.

“Oh...no, sorry,” Ashe mumbled. “I—I can’t read.”

Dimitri gasped, clasping a hand over his mouth. “Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t know, I’ll read it to you then.” He took the note in his hand and read to Ashe, “Dear Ashe. I hope you are doing well. When you wake up, let’s go teach each other lancing and archery in the courtyard like we promised! Dimitri.”

Ashe had forgotten the promise they had made together for a moment, and he grinned when he remembered it. “What do you say?” asked Dimitri, his blue eyes bright and lively with excitement.

“Okay!”


	6. Chapter 6

The royal armory was amazing. Walls lined top to bottom with all sorts of weaponry: elegant halberds, vicious-looking swords and daggers, lances that looked miles-long, and last, a small section dedicated entirely to archery.

Ashe stared, awestruck, at the magnificent bows and quivers of arrows; they seemed longer than he was tall, and he let go of Dimitri’s hand to look closer at them.

“Let’s find some small ones,” Dimitri whispered, looking around the armory. The smallest bows were still bigger than the one Ashe used to have, but when Dimitri placed one in his hands and he held the grip of the dark wooden bow and pulled at the sturdy string, it felt oddly perfect.

Dimitri found one for himself and had no idea how to use it, so he lead Ashe by the hand out and into the palace courtyard. It was chilly, but the snow had stopped falling and had melted for the most part under the midday sun. It looked like a great sea of snow, untouched and beautiful under the blue sky. 

Ashe saw two targets on the far side of the vast courtyard, and Dimitri explained how he had seen his father practice his archery sometimes. The archer was to stand halfway across the courtyard and shoot from there, and every miss was a lap around it.

Dimitri was about to step out of the stone colonnade and into the pristine snow, but Ashe pulled him back, making the prince stumble.

“Whoa! What’s wrong?” Dimitri asked, looking to his left and right.

“We can’t ruin the snow,” Ashe told him, clinging to his arm. “Let’s go around.”

The two boys walked through the colonnade and stopped in the midsection of the courtyard, and Dimitri hopped sideways into the snow, then hopped again so he was in front of the farthest target. Ashe jumped into the imprint the prince’s shoes had made in the snow, and they laughed, and he didn’t seem to notice the cold with Dimitri beside him.

“Okay. Show me how you do it first,” the prince requested, and Ashe pulled out one of the arrows he had taken from the armory and nocked it carefully on the bow. He felt unworthy to wield such a beautiful weapon. He pulled the arrow back and narrowed his eyes, aiming at the circular target’s center circle, and let the arrow fly. There was a faint thwack, and Ashe was relieved to see the arrow stuck in the bullseye over the sea of snow.

“Whoa!” Dimitri gasped, his blue eyes wide as he looked at Ashe’s perfect shot. “That’s amazing, Ashe!”

Ashe nearly jumped three feet in the air when he heard another voice far behind him, at the entrance of the armory.

“Impressive.”

There was a tall, kind-looking man, with sharp blue eyes and a familiar smile, and blonde hair on his head and his chin. He was holding a lance and looking right at Ashe.

Dimitri turned and smiled brightly, calling, “Hi, Father!” Ashe’s heart stopped. That was the king of Faerghus!

“Hello, Dimitri. Is this Ashe?” King Lambert asked, walking through the snow and towards them. Dimitri nodded, taking Ashe’s hand, and Ashe found himself trapped, clinging for dear life to his bow. Would he be reprimanded for not falling to his knees and groveling? Chased away, for defiling such a beautiful bow?

“You are quite the skilled archer, my friend,” King Lambert smiled. He smiled the same smile as his young son. The sunlight cast a faint shadow on the right side of his face, yet he looked as friendly and welcoming as any father would.

“Thah...thankou,” Ashe mumbled, staring down into the snow. Dimitri simpered and squeezed his hand, swinging their arms lightly back and forth between them.

“My son is going to be enrolled in the Officers’ Academy at Garreg Mach when he’s of age,” Lambert said, much to Dimitri’s apparent dismay. The young prince frowned, glaring down at the snow like Ashe. “I am sure they could use such a talented archer like you. What do you say you go with him one day?”

Ashe’s eyes widened, and he whipped his head up to stare at the king of Faerghus. Had he just recommended him for the Officers’ Academy? Dimitri looked at Ashe excitedly, nodding, and Ashe’s heart was racing faster than it had ever before.

Before he could say yes, he fainted.


	7. Chapter 7

“These are my good friends Felix, Ingrid, and Sylvain,” Dimitri said, gesturing to the three people standing before him. Felix looked grumpy and deadly at the same time, Ingrid smiled and waved in a polite greeting, and Sylvain nodded his head and grinned. “Everyone, this is Ashe.”

Ashe never felt more like a commoner here in the old stone monastery. Nearly everyone had an odd sense of nobility about them, the way they held their heads, the way they held their books. He had lived among nobility for five years—thanks to Dimitri—but he knew he would never get used to their unsettling aura.

“What house are you from, Ashe?” Ingrid asked, her green eyes friendly. Ashe glanced nervously at Dimitri, who smiled his encouraging smile at him. They had both grown taller over the years, but he had grown even _taller_. Whenever Ashe tried to look him in the eye, he had to angle his head upwards a little, which was embarrassing.

“Um—I...the Blue Lions,” Ashe spluttered, clutching his books against his chest. Ingrid seemed confused, and before she could say anything else, Felix cut in sharply.

“No, you idiot. She means what _noble house_. We’re all Blue Lions here,” he snapped.

“Felix,” Ingrid gasped.

“Felix,” Dimitri murmured.

“Felix,” Sylvain sighed.

Ashe shrank back, remembering that they were in fact in the Blue Lions’ hall. He couldn’t be mad at Felix, because he was right. And as much as he would have liked to say something back, he couldn’t; he did not belong to a noble house. Dimitri placed a hand on Ashe’s shoulder reassuringly.

“Pay no mind to him, Ashe,” he told his friend, “he’s a bit...abrasive, at times.” Ashe glanced up at Felix, and Felix glared down at him until Sylvain threw an arm over the dark-haired young man’s shoulder, and he started talking about women in an effort to break Felix’s intense staring.

“I don’t think—I don’t think this was a good idea,” Ashe whispered to Dimitri, watching as Ingrid whipped around at something Sylvain said and punched him in the face. “I don’t belong here.”

“What do you mean, you don’t belong here?” Dimitri asked gently, the firelight of the nearby hearth dancing in the depths of his blue eyes. “My father personally recommended you for the academy. You couldn’t belong here any more than you do now.”

Ashe picked anxiously at the back of his hand, and Dimitri patted his shoulder. “Don’t doubt yourself because you’re different. I think you’ll be great.” Ashe looked up into the prince’s eyes, and Dimitri looked down into his, smiling. That smile of his made Ashe’s fears ebb away in moments.

“...Okay.”


	8. Chapter 8

“...Ashe? Where are you?”

Ashe looked up from his book, sitting up in the dusty corner of the library. Reading was his favorite pastime now, ever since Dimitri and his teacher had taught Ashe how. Even though he sat here all the time, his corner was still dusty as if it had been untouched for ages.

“I’m here,” Ashe whispered as loudly as he could, looking around the maze of shelves. He only noticed the darkness then; night had fallen, casting a tenebrous shadow over the monastery’s library. The only light was of Ashe’s candle sitting on the ground by his hip, and soon, another faint flickering candlelight appeared from behind a faraway shelf.

“Hello, Your Highness,” Ashe grinned as Dimitri walked over. The prince’s candle illuminated his face in the blackness, and Dimitri frowned, kneeling down with Ashe.

“Since when have you started calling me ‘Your Highness?’” he asked, peeking at the open pages of Ashe’s book. It was an enthralling tale, and he had just been hopelessly lost in the story until Dimitri’s voice snapped him immediately back to reality.

“Oh...ever since we came to Garreg Mach,” Ashe replied, crossing his legs. The tiny flame of his candle danced on its wick when he closed his book, nearly putting it out. “All the others call you ‘Your Highness,’ so...I thought I should, too.”

Dimitri sighed, looking at his flickering, half melted candle. “Yes, I suppose. But you aren’t like all the others, Ashe. You know that.”

Ashe’s eyes widened as he stared into his lap, and he felt his face get hot with embarrassment. He knew he was not just anyone to the prince, but to hear him say that...it was comforting, reassuring. Dimitri was silent as they huddled in the corner of the monastery library, but after a few moments, he spluttered, “Wait! I—that’s—I didn’t mean—”

Ashe spluttered back, “No, no, it’s okay—wait, um—”

Dimitri laughed a little, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head. “I—sorry, Ashe, that was a bit...careless. Of me.” Careless? Did he mean to hide that? To Ashe’s surprise, it only made him feel happier. Perhaps…

His eyes were affectionate and uncharacteristically sheepish as he held out his hand for Ashe to take. “I came to find you because it’s getting late. We’ve got the first exam of the semester in a couple days, and I don’t want you to be missing out on sleep.”

Ashe gasped; he had nearly forgotten about the exam to come. He clasped his hands over his mouth. “Oh, no! I haven’t been studying!”

“Don’t worry,” Dimitri assured him, waving his outstretched hand dismissively. “I’ll study with you all day tomorrow. Come on, let’s head back to the dormitory.”

Ashe took Dimitri’s hand and his candle and got to his feet, stuffing his half-read book under his arm and hurrying with the prince through the dark library. He had dwelled in the dark much of his life, though it never comforted him. The shadows in the monastery seemed thicker than most, and when Ashe looked into the recesses of the farther shelves as they passed, they seemed to be following him, wanting only to swallow him up.

Ashe sucked in a shaky breath, squeezing Dimitri’s hand, and Dimitri glanced down at him. He seemed to sense Ashe’s fear, for he whispered, “It’s all right, we’re almost there.”

“Sorry,” Ashe mumbled, embarrassed at the relief that flooded through him when he glimpsed the light of the great monastery halls outside the library entrance. “I—I really shouldn’t be afraid of the dark…”

“There’s no need to worry,” Dimitri told him, and Ashe glanced up at him, hoping to see his reassuring smile. The prince was indeed smiling, and in the flickering candlelight, his blue eyes seemed fiery and—unfortunately for Ashe—even more handsome than they always were. “No matter the danger, I will always protect you.”

His eyes were strange. They projected every emotion Dimitri experienced, whether he spoke of it or not; Ashe had learned over the years how to read his expressions. He picked up even the slightest changes, and knew what every one meant. His blue eyes narrowed when he concentrated on his work, narrowed and glared when he was angry at someone, squinted when he was thinking hard during the tactics course, grew soft when he smiled at Ashe, were half lidded and content when Ashe talked to him.

They were gentle now, but were alight with some kind of fire within him; then, it all vanished when Dimitri blinked rapidly, looking away and clearing his throat, and Ashe gasped faintly and stared flusteredly at his knees.

Dimitri squeezed his hand briefly before letting of it, and Ashe had forgotten they had been holding hands at all. He looked up and saw that they were standing at the mouth of the library—where people could see them. Ashe wanted to pull his hood over his head and disappear, but he couldn’t wipe the smile off his freckled face no matter how hard he tried.


	9. Chapter 9

The villager had not even the chance to scream before Ashe loosed his arrow, and it pierced him between the eyes. He fell with a subdued _thump_ in the muddy grass, his axe falling to the ground with him.

Ashe waited for him to get back up, to fight back; his heart was pounding painfully in his chest, terror and adrenaline from his first true battle making his head pulse. Battle cries, cries of pain, cries of death, cries of victory rose up in a terrible din, and Ashe could barely hear his own voice when he ran to the villager and shook him vigorously, crying, “Get up!”

His glazed brown eyes were open and staring into the gray sky. Blood was seeping out of the hole in his head, where Ashe’s arrow had plunged through his skull. He was not breathing. Tears of horror stung Ashe’s eyes, and he shook the man again with his trembling hands, sniffling and sobbing in panic.

“Please…! Please, get back up,” Ashe wailed, and he grabbed the bloody shaft of his arrow and tried to tug it out, thinking it would bring the man back to life, but he did not gasp and begin to breathe. He was dead. He was _dead_.

Ashe had killed someone.

The young man stared blankly at the corpse lying in the mud, and saw that his axe was not a battle axe, but a wood hatchet. He was not a real soldier, dragged into a battle he was not prepared to face. And now, he could not go home.

The tears streamed down Ashe’s face, and he turned around just as a swordsman’s blade flashed into vision inches from his neck.

There was a clash of metal against metal, and Dimitri was there in an instant, his lance glistening silver and scarlet with blood, and the swordsman was dead in the grass, too. His eyes were ablaze with an unfamiliar animosity, and he did not seem to notice that he was now a murderer, too.

There was a nick on Ashe’s neck, and he didn’t even feel it until the blood began soaking into his hood. Dimitri fell to his knees, pressing his palm to Ashe’s wound, and the blue depths of his eyes were now filled with worry.

“Ashe, you have to be careful,” he gasped, and he looked around. “Where’s your bow? Your—” He saw the dead man and the arrow between his eyes, and he lowered his head.

“I killed him,” Ashe hiccuped, and he felt his pulse against Dimitri’s hand. His voice rose up in a querulous wail. “I killed him...I’m a killer…!”

“No, Ashe,” Dimitri breathed, “You’re not.” His arms were around Ashe, his face brushing the side of Ashe’s head, and Ashe cried and cried into his chest, clinging to his bloodstained blue cape like he had to Dimitri’s sleeves when they were children.

When Ashe calmed, swallowing heavily and wiping his eyes, Dimitri took his arm, helping him to his feet. Through Ashe’s teary eyes, the battlefield was a blurry mess of green, red, silver, and gray. The chaos of it all was muddled now, and he only heard Dimitri’s voice as the prince lead him away from the corpse he had rendered from a man.

“It’s all right, Ashe. It’s not your fault...you should not have been forced to kill.”


	10. Chapter 10

Ashe killed. He killed more and more, until he was almost numb to it.

Five years of slaughter made him apathetic. One arrow was one death, and when his quiver was empty, he had done his job. Dimitri was no longer there to comfort him.

He was not himself anymore; he did not smile, he did not laugh, he did not touch Ashe or anyone at all. He was the shell of the kind young man Ashe had once known. He kept to himself in the monastery now, and those who approached him were ignored or threatened until they left. Ashe had been told to stay away by the professor, who looked just as hurt that day as Ashe felt. Everyone was hurt. But Ashe believed that his hurting was the most painful; it cut deep into his flesh, carving out Dimitri’s name into his skin.

He walked into the monastery one day, only meaning to pass through. It was in ruins after the battle five years ago. Its great stone walls were crumbling, covered in ivies, and the majestic stained glass windows were in pieces. Perhaps Dimitri was not the only thing that had been destroyed in Garreg Mach.

He was standing where a window had once been, staring outside. Ashe walked past him, staring at the back of his head. His blonde hair was tangled and uncut, and a selfish, stupid part of him wanted to run his fingers through it, comb it smooth.

Just as Ashe reached the door on the other side of the monastery’s great hall, Dimitri turned and looked at him.

He had lost his right eye, and his left was ghostly. His face was sunken and pale, and he did not smile. Ashe stared at him, and Dimitri stared back.


	11. Chapter 11

Dimitri was not there when Ashe was knocked off his horse, and he fell against a jagged boulder that cut through his arm.

Mercedes and Annette were there, and Sylvain was there to carry him to safety. He was too weak to thank them, to see the warm light of Mercedes’ healing magic, to push aside the pain. It consumed him, overwhelmed him, and he cried and screamed and thrashed and Dedue was there to hold him down.

When Ashe could open his eyes, he was in the infirmary. The bed beside him was empty; perhaps not so many people had gotten injured. His left arm was covered in bloody bandages, and when he tried to lift it, he couldn’t. He remembered that he had dropped his bow when he fell from his horse; it did not matter now, since he would no longer be able to use it ever again.

The door opened, and Dimitri was there.

His ghostly eye looked at Ashe’s face, then at his ruined arm. He closed the door behind him and walked over, his black armor glinting in the early morning sun. Ashe knew better than to smile, to ask if he was all right.

Dimitri sat on the side of his bed, still looking at Ashe’s arm. When he spoke, his voice was low and husky, as if he had not used it in years.

“...I doubt you can pick up your bow again.”

There was an unprecedented flash of anger in the pit of Ashe’s stomach, and he demanded, “Is that it?”

Dimitri’s eye flicked up to look at Ashe. His other was behind a black eye patch, and Ashe could feel it looking at him, too, even though it was gone.

“You come talk to me for the first time in—in _years_ , and that’s it?”

He heard Dimitri take in a slow breath, and he closed his eye, not speaking. The hurt raging within Ashe rivaled that of his injured arm, and he squeezed a fistful of his covers with his trembling good hand.

“...I…” Dimitri lowered his head, and Ashe saw a spark of humanity in him. Regret. Guilt. “...I did not wish to scare you.”

Ashe laughed incredulously. “Scare me? You...you don’t scare me, Your Highness. I could never be scared of you, no matter what you do.”

Dimitri looked into Ashe’s eyes, and there was anger in the depths of his own. “I see terror in your gaze whenever you pass me, Ashe.”

“I’m not scared of you,” Ashe insisted angrily, and before he could think, he blurted out, “I’m—scared for you. I’m scared to lose you.”

Dimitri looked at him, and for the first time in Ashe’s life, his expression was unreadable. In the pale infirmary room, his dark armor was the only shadow, and it did not scare Ashe.

“...I—I was scared you’d lost yourself,” Ashe whispered, and his olive eyes squeezed shut. “I was afraid I’d never see the you you used to be ever again.”

Dimitri did not respond, and when Ashe pried his eyes back open, he saw the prince looking down at Ashe’s right hand. He saw Dimitri hesitate before placing his own over it on the covers, his warmth achingly familiar through his gloves.

“I’m sorry,” Dimitri murmured. Ashe let go of his handful of blankets, but did not hold Dimitri’s hand. “I knew you hated murderers...I did not want you to hate me.”

Ashe felt a wave of red hot pain in his left shoulder, and he struggled to lift his injured arm, his hand quivering in the air. Dimitri’s blue gaze lifted from Ashe’s right hand to his left, and he gasped faintly, watching it as it traveled slowly, painfully from Ashe’s side to his cheek.

His face was warm, too. As cold as he looked, Dimitri was as warm and safe as he always had been. Ashe’s trembling fingers brushed against Dimitri’s jaw for only a moment before his arm fell onto himself again.

“...We’re all murderers, Your Highness,” Ashe whispered. Dimitri closed his eye, closing both his hands around Ashe’s right. “We are all the same that way.”


	12. Chapter 12

Ashe narrowed his eyes as he struggled to grip his bow, clenching his trembling fingers tightly over the leather-bound wood. He grunted as he lifted his aching arm, nocking an arrow, and he glared at the target in the training grounds, aiming for the center circle.

With a faint _fwip_ , the arrow flew, and scraped the edge of the outermost circle before falling to the ground. Ashe sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. At least he could hold his bow.

“Ashe!” Dimitri called from somewhere behind him, and Ashe turned around, wiping the sweat from his forehead as the prince walked over to him, smiling. He had begun to smile again after he and Ashe spoke that day; it had barely been a month, and he had begun to finally return to his old self now. Even in his black armor, he seemed to shine with the midday sun, and his lively blue eye glistened on his handsome face like a drop of sky.

Over the days of Ashe’s recovery, Dimitri had visited frequently, bringing his meals and telling him of his plans and asking his opinion. The war was almost over, and Ashe hoped that he could fight by Dimitri’s side on the day it came to an end. Some nights, Dimitri stayed longer than he planned, and Ashe often woke up with only the faint memory of the tip of Dimitri’s nose brushing against his.

He had never tried to deny it, but he had never wanted to admit it; Ashe was in love with Dimitri, and he knew by the way Dimitri laced their fingers together and whispered close to his ear that he was in love with Ashe, too.

“Hello, Your Highness,” Ashe smiled back. He glanced awkwardly at the unmarked target, and the three arrows in the grass beneath it. “I, uh...I hope you didn’t see that.”

“You’ve recovered much faster than the healers said you would,” Dimitri told him, placing a hand on Ashe’s right shoulder. “I’m honestly quite impressed. But don’t push yourself, all right?” Ashe nodded, blushing a little at the prince’s touch. Dimitri glanced backwards, and Ashe saw Sylvain and Felix at the entrance to the monastery, the former giving Dimitri a hearty thumbs-up, and the latter with an amused smirk.

“You—um.” Dimitri cleared his throat, mouthing something at Sylvain, and Sylvain gave him the “OK” signal, and Felix turned and left, laughing.

“Is everything all right?” Ashe asked, lowering his bow. Dimitri glanced back down at him, and to Ashe’s surprise, he was blushing, too. He looked thoroughly embarrassed.

“Yes, yes, ah...do you…” Dimitri shook his head, smacking his right hand over his face, his left gripping Ashe’s shoulder. “Back when we were children—goddess, help me—you used to be a thief, right…?”

Ashe nodded. “Yes...but you saved me from the streets,” he reminded Dimitri shyly, tipping his head to the side. “Why?”

“It just seems fitting, because—” Sylvain looked way too excited, and Dimitri’s face was much too red “—because you—you stole my heart….”

Ashe’s olive eyes widened, and he burst out laughing, dropping his bow and throwing his arms around Dimitri’s neck. He felt Dimitri’s arms wrap around his waist and the rumble of his own laughter in his chest, and Sylvain whooped and cheered until Ingrid and Felix dragged him away.

“Did Sylvain make you say that?” Ashe grinned, as Dimitri set him back down on his feet. The prince of Faerghus laughed a little, squeezing Ashe’s hands.

“Yes. I don’t know what it means, but it worked, I suppose,” Dimitri confessed, leaning down to kiss Ashe’s forehead. Ashe gasped and froze up, half in panic and half in shock, and Dimitri’s affectionate blue gaze rested on his face as he guided a few stray locks of silvery hair behind Ashe’s ear. “...So…”

Ashe pouted a little, despite the overwhelming surge of joy in his chest. “Well, I was hoping for something more romantic, not one of Sylvain’s cheesy pick up lines.” Dimitri frowned, considering this, and he glared at the spot where Sylvain had once stood.

“Your bad luck has rubbed off on me,” he muttered, and Ashe laughed and stretched up to kiss Dimitri’s cheek. The prince looked down, blushing.

“You’ll think of something else, I’m sure,” Ashe simpered, and Dimitri’s eye grew gentle and fond as he nodded. He twined his little finger teasingly with Ashe’s, just like they had the day they had first met.

“I promise, I will.”


	13. Chapter 13

The war was over now.

That was what Dimitri told him, his lips pressed to Ashe’s temple, his hands clutching the archer to his chest. There was so much blood, more than Ashe thought could even be inside him. Dimitri was crying, his warm, strong chest shaking with heavy sobs.

“I’m sorry,” his muffled voice told Ashe, “I couldn’t protect you…”

The warmth of Dimitri’s body disappeared, and he was suddenly swallowed up by a terrible chill; like a suffocating shadow had been drawn over him, locking him away from the light. His light, Dimitri. 

It was so dark.

“...I love you, Ashe…forgive me…”


	14. Chapter 14

His hand was gently patting Ashe’s in his sleep, his head resting on Ashe’s pillow.

Ashe’s head ached as if it had been split in two, and he felt dull pain in his legs and his torso; the last he remembered was his horse whinnying and falling, and a lancer drawing his weapon up into the sky to plunge it into him.

Ashe twitched at the memory, prying his eyes open. The curtains of the infirmary were drawn, and the small room was a subdued gray. Dimitri was there at his bedside, fast asleep. He was no longer in his armor, but was in a white shirt and pants, his arms covered in bandages. His eye was peacefully closed, but Ashe saw a trail of dried tears leading down his left cheek. He had cried last night.

He remembered Dimitri’s last words to him: _I love you, Ashe. Forgive me_. Ashe’s eyes stung, and he touched Dimitri’s forehead with his trembling fingertips, brushing his bloody blonde hair away from his face.

Dimitri woke up at once, raising his head, and when his gaze met Ashe’s, he squeezed Ashe’s hand, breathing out a shaky prayer and smiling that life-saving smile.

“I...I love you too...Dimitri,” Ashe whispered; the name felt foreign on his tongue, yet right. Dimitri’s eye glistened with new tears, and he leaned close and placed a soft kiss upon Ashe’s lips. The tears came to Ashe’s eyes as well as they fluttered shut, and he wrapped his arms weakly around Dimitri’s neck and kissed him back. He tasted of bitter medicine and a little bit of blood, but Ashe would not have wanted him any other way.

Dimitri released him, laying his head back against his pillow, and he rasped, “I was so worried, Ashe...I thought I—I thought I lost you.”

Ashe shook his head, easing Dimitri’s face close to him again. The tip of his nose brushed against Ashe’s, and a tear dropped from his chin down to Ashe’s collarbone.

“Never,” the archer murmured, and he smiled shyly as Dimitri pressed another tender kiss to his eyelid. He laced his fingers together with Ashe’s, and Ashe squeezed his hand tightly over the covers of his bed. “You’ll never lose me.”

The war was over now.


	15. Chapter 15

Dimitri’s right arm was wrapped around Ashe’s waist, his left hand holding the archer close to him. Ashe stared into his face, his hands resting upon Dimitri’s chest as they lay in bed together. The royal palace of Faerghus was quiet in the early mornings, save for the faint birdsong outside the arched window.

His eyepatch was on the nightstand, as was the prematurely pinched-out candle. Dimitri’s eyes were both closed; one from sleep, the other without choice. He had gauged it out himself, Dimitri had told him last night, at the height of his madness. It no longer hurt, Ashe was reassured, but the grotesque, dark scar tissue made Ashe wonder if Dimitri had felt the pain at all when he dug his eye out of his own head.

His lips were barely parted as he breathed softly in his sleep. Ashe knew those lips very well. They had kissed him, smiled at him, spoke to him; they had uttered the first words of kindness Ashe had ever heard, had saved his life. Ashe let his eyes close halfway, brushing his fingertip against the corner of Dimitri’s mouth.

The new king slept lightly, and his eye opened slowly at Ashe’s touch. Dimitri’s head shifted on his pillow, and his handsome blue gaze came to rest upon Ashe’s face. His eyes were the most beautiful things Ashe had ever seen. He remembered the first time he’d seen them, so many years ago in the marketplace of the Faerghus castle town.

Dimitri smiled softly at him, easing Ashe closer to him and murmuring, “Good morning, my love.” Ashe closed his eyes, smiling too, and the last thing he saw before drifting back to sleep was the glisten of gold on his fourth finger, shining in the soft morning sunlight.

For once, Ashe was glad that he had been a thief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thansk for readibhg


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